


To Save His Prince

by LaReineDuLune



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, Monchelotte, Multi, Romance, The author's dramatic license, monchevy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaReineDuLune/pseuds/LaReineDuLune
Summary: Post-Series 3.Plagued by violent nightmares of war, Philippe is spiraling into a hopeless depression and drowning in a well of sorrow from which he cannot emerge from alone. The Chevalier feels his love slipping through his fingers more and more each day. But, with the help of his dear Liselotte, he conspires to save the love of his life.





	To Save His Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Primarily MonChevy, but I hope you don't mind a little Monchelotte, given how heavily it was implied in the finale. At the very least, they are a family those three and love each other very much.

To Save His Prince  
©2018 La Reine Du Lune

“Honestly, darling, don’t give it a second thought,” The Chevalier spoke as he dabbed at the blood still blooming on the apple of his right cheek. “Give it a week and it’ll be like nothing happened.” His tone was light, but his voice was shaking and it cut Philippe to core. He wanted to reach out, but he was frozen, sat on their bed, watching the Chevalier tend the abrasion. A large bruise was already forming. Philippe’s hands were clenched in white knuckled fists to the point where they ached. The knuckles on his right hand were beginning to swell.

He’d not meant to hit the Chevalier. In fact, he’d not even been aware that it was he with whom his fist had connected. All he saw in his mind’s eye before him was first a Dutch soldier, and then in the haze of waking from his nightmare, he’d seen the face of Thomas, the spy who’d caused such chaos between himself and the man he held most dear.

The Chevalier had been a victim of circumstance, but that did not diminish the roiling of Philippe’s stomach, the nervous ache coursing through his veins, nor the nausea brought on by his guilt. The pair of them had made a vow not to hurt each other again, and he’d now broken his promise. The weight of his guilt threatened to drag him under.

His morose thoughts were broken when a kiss was pressed to his forehead. He was startled and recoiled, looking up into loving blue eyes, offset by a large, burning welt on the cheek of a once perfect face. The Chevalier stood over him, now full dressed, his hands settling over the confused Prince’s, rubbing soothing circles upon them with his thumbs until Philippe released the tension of his fists just a fraction.

“Will you be alright for a few minutes? I’m afraid I have somewhere I need to be,” the Chevalier spoke in a calm, measured voice. “Only a few minutes, I promise.” Philippe nodded, barely absorbing the words being spoken to him. The Chevalier leaned down and brushed his lips over Philippe’s. “I love you, my Mignonette.” The words were barely above a whisper but Philippe heard them and he felt a lump form in his throat.

He did not remember the Chevalier leaving their chambers, or how long he’d been sat staring at the wall until there was a depression in the mattress, and he became aware that Liselotte had joined him when she pulled him into her embrace. He burst into tears, the emotions bubbling forth uncontrollably. He hid his face against her and wept. His sorrow poured out of him but the well was too deep for him to be assuaged. Liselotte soothed him as she used to do their little son before he’d been taken away. Her heart ached for her husband. She was grateful the Chevalier had come running to her, and grateful that she’d risen early in the morning so that she’d been able to go to him straight away. The Princess did as best she could to comfort Philippe, but she was afraid that nothing could save him.

Meanwhile the Chevalier moved swiftly through the endless corridors of the palace towards the King’s wing. He knew he was being rash and reckless, but when it came to Philippe, he would never restrain himself from being so. The Prince was the blood in his veins and the light in his soul, and he’d been suffering long enough. He knew that with the endless nightmares that plagued their nights, that time had not healed the wounds that war had scarred his love. For Philippe he’d gladly accept any wrath the King chose to deal him.

Upon the sight of the King’s valet, the Chevalier called for him. “Bontemps! Instantly! I need to see the King right away.” The man gave the Chevalier the expected look down his nose and turned to go about his business, but the Chevalier was not willing to let the man disappear from sight without first gaining an assured access to Philippe’s brother. The Chevalier moved quickly and got ahead of the man, not willing to let him pass.

“I haven’t the time nor the inclination to entertain whatever ludicrous scheme you want the King to invest in,” Bontemps explained wearily. “Now if you’ll let me be…”

“I need to see the King,” The Chevalier begged . “Tell him it’s a matter of life and death, please, I implore you.”

The urgency in in the Chevalier’s voice gave Bontemps pause and he stopped to listen. “Whose life? And what happened to your face?”

“The Prince, the Duc. Philippe. Tell him it’s Philippe.”

“Is the Duc ill?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Bontemps was already losing patience by the cryptic answer, but the Chevalier persisted. “Please, if the King would but see me, I will make him understand. I truly do fear for Philippe’s life. You must know enough of me by now that when it comes to his Highness, I do not jest. I’m being serious and the situation is dire. For godsakes, man, just tell him!”

Bontemps gave the Chevalier a pointed look, but ultimately bowed his head and went through the doors to the King’s apartments. After what seemed an eternally long stretch of time that rendered the Chevalier into a state of anxiety and frustration that had him packing back and forth, the doors opened again.

Bontemps gestured and the Chevalier verily sprinted through towards the Kind’s personal salon where His Majesty awaited him. The King stood by a window, servants around him laying out a feast for his breakfast, the Chevalier knowing that the majority of it would go uneaten. He turned when he heard the Chevalier’s fast approach.

“You’ve said my brother is ill ‘in a manner of speaking’. Clarify this for me,” the King demanded.

The Chevalier took a deep breath, and cursed himself for how he still quaked in the presence of Philippe’s brother. He supposed the memories of prison didn’t help his confidence, but in this instant he cast aside his concerns for himself. Philippe’s well-being outweighed his own entirely. “Your Majesty, though it has been many months since your brother returned from your latest war, each night for the past two weeks he’s been disturbed by violent nightmares.”

“We all have nightmares from time to time.”

“Of course, but not like this. Not ones that have you weeping in your sleep. Not ones that have you wake and believe that you are still trapped within your dream. And we don’t normally have ones that cause us to attack the person sleeping beside you, believing them to be an enemy soldier.”

“And when did that happen?” The King gestured to the large bruise and abrasion on the Chevalier’s cheek.

“This morning. He was calling for me in his sleep… and then, the words he said…” The Chevalier swallowed thickly. “From what I understood he thought I’d been killed and he was mourning. He was sobbing, still asleep mind you, and when I touched him and assured him I’d not left his side, his eyes opened and there was murderous rage in them. He lashed out. When he finally emerged fully from his sleep, the remorse on his face was instantaneous. But it was more than that, Sire, he… he is a broken man.”

“Are you implying that my brother is losing his mind? That he is going mad?”

“I would not say such a thing outside of this room. But, but it is what I fear.” When the King did not speak, the Chevalier continued. “Sire, neither one of us knows what exactly happened on the battlefields he’s been on over the years. He’s always kept the details from me, even when I’ve asked. He pretends to revel in the glory of his victories, but the moment everyone’s faces have turned, I see his smile fade and the light go out in his eyes. I know him better than I know myself. There is something that’s happening to him now that is taking him over. He’s not the same man I fell in love it. I love him still, more than ever, but he’s changed. Be it from the memories of war or the mechanicians you’ve implemented to solidify your power…”

“How dare you…” The King advanced, fire in his eyes at being accused of harming his brother, but it was no secret how the King had manipulated and used his brother horribly over the years. The Chevalier knew far more how it had affected his love than anyone else in the entire palace.

“Oh yes, I dare. I dare because I love your brother as you love your wife!” The Chevalier paused and swallowed hard, then looked the King square in the eye. Any pretense between them was gone. The Chevalier would no longer cower before the King because ultimately the love he had for Philippe was stronger than any fear he felt. “He’s like a wild bird in a cage, and it’s driving him mad. He needs to be free, if only for a little time. He needs to be allowed to heal and not be put upon by you or anyone else.”

He’d no longer quiver and be supplicant before Louis XIV, not when the love of his life’s sanity was at stake. In fact, he feared for Philippe’s very soul. “Sire, I would get down on my knees and beg if it pleased you. I love Philippe with every fibre of my being. I cannot fathom that God would put he and I on this Earth, bring us together and have us be any less than each other’s very soul. I love him. Can you not understand? I’m not asking you to let him have a holiday off in Italy, I’m asking you to let me save him.”

The Chevalier was breathing heavily, every muscle in his body was holding tension, and he did not waver from the King’s hard glare. One of them would have to fold, and the Chevalier was prepared to hold the stalemate indefinitely. He’d not surrender when Philippe’s health was in jeopardy.

At length, and much to the Chevalier’s immeasurable relief, the King’s shoulders dropped and he knew he’d grant the Chevalier’s wishes. The knot that had formed in his stomach loosened and he bit back the emotion that swelled within.

“How long?” the King asked.

“Until the end of the season, a month, maybe two. I will write.”

“See that you do. What exactly do you hope to accomplish?”

“I want to help him reconcile the horrors he’s seen and experienced. I want to discover why each night he dreams blood and death. I want to help him to realize that he is not alone, that he is loved and a deserving of that love. I want to ensure the he realizes he does not have to shoulder his burdens alone.”

“Very well. I will concede that ultimately you’ve nearly always had my brother’s best interests at heart. If my brother is well, then…”

“Then so are you, yes Sire.”

“Depart then, but do not make a spectacle of things.”

The Chevalier nodded, then went to speak again, but paused.

“Yes, what it is?” The King demanded, his exasperation becoming evident.

“The Princess Palatine, I have no doubt she would wish to accompany us.”

“Indeed. Do not presume that the closeness you three share has not gone unnoticed.”

“We… we are family.” What more could he offer in explanation? The love he felt for Liselotte was not romantic, but it was more than friendship. It was familial.

The King sighed but acquiesced, and quickly dismissed the Chevalier. He left the King’s wing with haste, not wanting to give the man any time to change his mind. When he returned to their rooms he found Philippe at a window, staring without focus outside at the gardens. He was dressed and he looked woefully tired. His eyes were blood shot, red, and swollen from tears. Liselotte was no longer present, but he’d seen and ordered one of her maids to inform her that she was to pack for a month’s leave at Saint-Cloud and to inform her Mistress at once.

Philippe did not acknowledge him, even as the Chevalier encircled the Prince’s waist with his arms and pulled him firmly against his body. He hooked his chin over Philippe’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. Unresponsive to his touch, the Chevalier sighed.

“Would you like hear of what I dreamt last night, my Mignonette?” The Chevalier asked, tightening his firm hold around his love even more. Philippe gave no answer, but the Chevalier persisted. “I dreamt that we quit Versailles for the entire Summer and well into the Autumn too. We didn’t run too far, only to Saint-Cloud, but it was just you and I, and our wife of course.” The Chevalier, nudged at Philippe’s jaw with his nose before kissing his earlobe. “We left Versailles in the afternoon, and when we arrived the servants prepared us an excellent supper and we drank too much wine before retiring to our bed, where I made passionate love to you until you were so exhausted that you slept the entire night through and woke the next morning feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders.”

“You dreamt no such thing. You shouldn’t live in fantasies,” Philippe responded, his tone morose.

“Who said anything about fantasy? My darling, it’s reality. I’ve already sent a messenger ahead to notify them of our arrival! Our little Franzbrötchen is already packing…”

“Our little what?”

“Some German pastry. She was craving them constantly during her pregnancy. She actually convinced Louis to send an emissary to Germany to learn how to make them. She was insufferable for a good two months, let me tell you! He did it just to keep the peace. For once, he did something wise.”

That garnered a slight smile from the Prince, but it faded quickly. “My brother would never let us go.”

“Au contraire mon cher! It’s already settled, permission has been granted. We leave in an hour.”

Philippe extricated himself from the Chevalier’s embrace. He did not look pleased, and the Chevalier admitted to himself that he half expected this very reaction. “What have you done?”

“Nothing! I swear. I merely pointed out to the King that the palace has become dull as dishwater. The swamp is rife with stench and insects. The Court is full of ugly people. It’s intolerable. Come now, Mignonette, you know you’ll never be able convince me you don’t want to go, and you know I speak the truth. Think of it as a well deserved holiday.”

“A holiday? From living in opulence, decadence and luxury?”

“A holiday, my darling, from the stifling, domineering, ever present shadows of responsibility, regulations and frankly, your brother’s capriciousness. If we are out of sight, pray we are out of mind. We’ve got a at least a month ahead of us where our only responsibilities will be to each other.” The Chevalier’s light tone faded and he reached for Philippe again, taking both his hands in his. “My darling, my once sparkling, shimmering star, the light has all but faded from your eyes these past months. It’s only when we are in each others’ arms or naked in our bed that I see your will to live. You are haunted and tortured by the demons of war and death and I fear they are winning out against that triumphant, tenacious spirit of yours. You are slipping through my fingers and I wish to stop it from happening, because you see my darling, my angel, I love you. I love you completely and utterly. You are everything to me and the thought of losing you to… to whatever this is, this melancholy, is more terrifying to me that any battlefield. What can I say? I’m selfish. My every happiness depends entirely on you being whole and content. Come to Saint-Cloud.”

Philippe must’ve seen the desperation in the Chevalier’s eyes as after a pause he nodded in abeyance, wearily dropping his forehead against the Chevalier’s.

“I’m so tired,” Philippe whispered, finally giving in. The Chevalier enfolded him in his arms and held him close. He was not a religious man by any means, but in that moment, he prayed that he’d not lose his other half.

 

There was a certain innocence to Philippe when he slept and his dreams were calm. Their first week at Saint-Cloud had been nothing short of idyllic. There’d been good food, wine, and the letting go of their cares and inhibitions. There had also been an excessive amount of sex. Liselotte was surely pregnant at this point, he was certain, by one of them. What a scandal it would be if the King found out. That was why they’d been careful to dismiss the servants early in the evening, and keep their bedroom doors locked.

He didn’t so much mind women now, provided they were married to the love of his life. He had no interest in the rest of them. Still, she knew when to take her leave of them and let them two of them be. They were finally beginning to enjoy life away from court and the Chevalier was surprised by how little he now needed that life. He was truly a changed man.

Laying quietly next to Philippe, the pair of them bathed in moonlight, he looked across at Philippe and found himself falling in love all over again. He’d not had a nightmare since they arrived, breaking a cycle that had gone on for weeks. He ought to have known better than to hope that his love’s ordeals were over.

It began with Philippe’s sharp intake of hair and his hand grabbing a fistful of their blankets. The soft smile vanished from the Chevalier’s face. Events escalated quickly, and within a minute sweat had beaded upon his furrowed brow. A moment later he was gasping for breath and weeping in his sleep. The Chevalier’s heart broke.

“I love you, Philippe,” spoke the Chevalier, close enough that he could feel Philippe’s breath on his face. “My love, come back to me. Listen to me voice, Mignonette. Can you hear me? Follow my voice.” The Chevalier continued to soothe him with words as best he could. He’d have reached out and touched him, but remembered how his love had reacted the last time he’d been wakened, he resisted the impulse. “Mignonette, Philippe, my star, please wake. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Philippe’s eyes shot open and he took in a full breath of air, his body shaking and the tears still running down his face.

“Where were you?” The Chevalier asked. “Don’t think about it, just tell me.”

“Cassel. I was back in Cassel,” Philippe spoke, his eyes unable to focus.

“Give me your hand.” Philippe shook his head and finally came full around from his dream, remember where he was and with whom he was sharing a bed. Philippe let go of the blankets and moved his hand and inch closer to the Chevalier, who immediately took it and pressed his lips to the palm. “Tell me about your dream, tell me about Cassel.”

Philippe shook his head and the look in his eyes was so pitiful that the Chevalier did not prompt him further. Instead he allowed Philippe to bury his face into his chest and hold on to him as if he were a rope thrown to a drowning man. The Chevalier held him and whispered over and over how much he loved him.

Come morning Philippe was quiet and pensive and the Chevalier did not press him further on what occurred at the Battle of Cassel. He knew well enough. There was a reason he did not go to war. Liselotte was tucked away in her chamber writing her letters. She wrote enough letters for all of France.

Philippe sat outside, lounging in a chair, eyes closed to the warmth of the morning sun. The Chevalier, still dressed only in his nightshirt and robes, sauntered out to join his beloved. Before Philippe could protest, the Chevalier had insinuated himself into Philippe’s lap with his arms draped around his shoulders.

“Too early for seduction I suppose?” the Chevalier mused seeking and receiving a good morning kiss from Philippe’s lips.

“Too late. It’s nearly noon.”

“Ah well, we shall have to settle for an afternoon delight.”

“I don’t think my ass could take it, frankly.”

The Chevalier smiled with mirth. He enjoyed it when Philippe teased him. “My poor darling. I’ve not been too rough have I? If I recall last night correctly, and I think I do, you were begging me to go deeper, harder, and to fuck you like an animal?” A blush blossomed on the Prince’s cheeks and the Chevalier grinned from ear to ear.

“You truly are the worst.”

“Yes, I know. It’s part of my many charms.” The Chevalier leaned down and kissed his Prince, slowly and sweetly, knowing they had all the time in the world. There was a slight breeze, but it was cold and it made the Chevalier shiver, prompting Philippe to wrap him up in his arms and cuddle him close. The Chevalier rested his head on Philippe’s shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“There’s a storm coming, I can feel it,” Philippe spoke after a time.

“Nonsense, it’s going to be hot as Hades this afternoon.” Philippe hummed in disagreement, but nonetheless accepted the kiss the Chevalier offered.

The pout the Chevalier had on his face later in the day was no so much because of the rain falling outside, but rather the smug look it put on Philippe’s face. Relegated to the indoors, the Chevalier and Liselotte played cards while Philippe read a book. The simple fact was that they were all rather bored. As they wasted away the hours in companionable silence, the Chevalier was nearly able to forget that there was still a looming shadow waiting to envelop them. He pushed it to the back of his mind as best he could, knowing that with each nightmare Philippe had, that he slipped a little bit more from the Chevalier’s grasp.

The rains persisted, even throughout dinner, and on until the last candle was snuffed out and they retired to bed. Tonight it was the three of them, with Philippe in the middle and the other two pressed to his sides. Gone were any inhibitions about sharing a bed, or a husband, or a wife. Liselotte fell asleep quickly, her head pillowed on Philippe’s chest, while he and the Chevalier remained awake a little longer, not speaking but simply looking upon each other lovingly until slowly they both slipped away into dreams.

The Chevalier was wakened not by the distant rolling of the thunder, but instead by a mighty gust of wind so forceful, it blew over the tall candelabra on the table in their room. The papers on the desk were caught up like dried leaves and swirled about the chamber. The pages of the books were violently turned and the curtains billowed like spectres come to devour them whole.

“Oh god, where is he?” Liselotte gasped, eyes wide with panic as she stared out the open doors out to the torrential downpour and the gardens.

The Chevalier did not hesitate and leapt from the bed, grabbed his robe and sprinted out into the downpour. He fought against the rain and the ever increasing velocity of the wind. His hair was instantly drench and whipped about his face. The cold took hold of him and he began to shiver. This was a storm unlike any other he could recall in all his life.

He called out for Philippe but his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of Mother Nature at her most violent. When the skies suddenly exploded in white fire, the Chevalier felt fear down to the marrow of his bones. Thunder rumbled over the land like a stampede of wild horses. When the second parade of lightning lit up the sky, the Chevalier spied a lone figure in the distance and he knew he’d found his Prince.

The Chevalier raced towards him, calling for him, but no matter what he could not get the other man’s attention. All around them was chaos and tumult. He was almost upon him when Philippe spun around, a sword held aloft as he cut through the air with its blade, battling hallucinated soldiers in a war that was long since over.

He made the mistake of taking one step too close and Philippe turned around, his face venom and his eyes wild as the storm. The Chevalier retreated, but slipped in the mud and fell. He landed hard on his back scrambling backwards as Philippe rampaged towards him, slashing at him with his blade.

“Philippe!” Liselotte was there screaming her husband’s name.

“Liselotte?” Philippe questioned, confusion falling upon his face. “You can’t be here.”

“Philippe, please drop the sword,” she pleaded, wanting to come closer but heading the warning gesture from the Chevalier to remain where she was.

“Drop my sword? But they’re everywhere!”

“Who? Who are? There’s no one here but you, me and the Chevalier. Look, can’t you see who that is?”

“The Dutch, the soldiers, can’t you hear the canons?”

“That’s only the thunder, Philippe. Please, we’re home. We’re at Saint-Cloud. Don’t you remember?”

“You’re not here, you’re at Versailles. The Chevalier was supposed to protect you. The baby is due soon, you cannot be here.” The Chevalier and Liselotte shared a look of pure horror between them. Philippe was walking in his sleep, living his nightmare, and with his sword ready to strike the Chevalier dead.

“Philippe, he’s already been born, over a year ago. We visited him less than a month ago. He was able to stand up on his own, do you remember?”

She may have been able to get through to him, had the lightning not flashed again. Philippe’s eyes went blank and he brought his blade up, ready to pierce the Chevalier through the heart.

“No!” Liselotte screamed. Philippe faltered for a moment and did not deliver the stroke, but his arm vibrated with tension. The Chevalier knew if he moved he’d be dead. Philippe would react without thought, and presently he was not in his right mind. “Philippe, please! You must put the sword down. Look at him, it’s the Chevalier. He’s the love of your life. If you do this, you’ll never forgive yourself. Please, Philippe, please!”

The Chevalier searched his love’s eyes for recognition, but there was none. He did not know how to escape the inevitable, but rather than risk Liselotte getting between them and Philippe not realizing she wasn’t another Dutch soldier, he gave up. What more could he do?

“Philippe!” The Chevalier cried, “I love you, and… and I forgive you.” Lightning lit up the sky, turning their whole world white, and the Prince’s screams were louder than the thunder. Somehow, the Chevalier’s parting words had got through and upon recognizing what he’d been about to do, he’d dropped his sword and fell to his knees. He was broken utterly, and the Chevalier prayed that finally they could help their beloved Philippe to mend himself and his fractured psyche.

An hour later they were huddled together in front of the fireplace in their bedchamber. The storm raged on, but they were sequestered in the dark together, naked under their respective blankets and each nursing a snifter of cognac. Damp hair still clung to their skin, but they were warmed. Philippe had become biddable and pliant under his lovers’ touch, allowing himself to be sat between the Chevalier’s legs, with his back to his chest, while Liselotte had his feet in her lap. The Chevalier had him trapped between all four limbs and he couldn’t escape. Not that he intended to. He’d surrendered.

Between sips of his drink, the Chevalier dotted kisses along Philippe’s shoulders and the back of his neck. How he could be touched so tenderly after what he’d almost done, Philippe could not comprehend, but he no longer wanted dominion over himself, to be in control, or to be the one to take care of and protect them. He was not fit. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the warmth and comfort of the Chevalier’s body, inhaling the scent of him and curling into his body. The Chevalier did not deny him and set aside his cognac to fully envelope the Prince in his arms.

“I do not deserve this from you,” Philippe murmured. The Chevalier’s embrace tightened. “I did not recognize you. In my mind’s eye, you were an enemy soldier. At first it was all a dream, and then it became too real, and I did not realize I was still dreaming. It runs in the family you know? My brother walks in his sleep too when he is disturbed.”

“Still, you came to your senses in the end,” The Chevalier replied.

“Only because you told me you loved me. I can’t imagine a Dutch soldier saying such a thing, can you?”

The Chevalier smiled and kissed Philippe’s cheek. “Oh I wouldn’t be so sure, my love, you are the most beautiful man in all of France, and I dare say Holland too. If you weren’t trying to run them all through with a sword, they’d be lining up on their knees for a chance to suck you off.”

Liselotte gasped, feigning shock, and the Chevalier winked at her.

Philippe however did not feel quite so jovial. “You told me that you forgave me. I would’ve killed you.”

“My darling, what else could I give you in that moment? In the years to come you would’ve played this night over and over again in your head and driven yourself truly mad, but at the least you’d have known in your heart that I loved you and that I knew that had you control over yourself that you would not have harmed me. Of course I would’ve forgiven you. My love for you is without condition.”

“I do not deserve your love.”

“Nonsense,” Liselotte interjected. “You are a good man and a good husband, and while you’re not a natural at being a father, you’re doting and kind to our son.”

“A good husband she says, as I lay in my lover’s arms,” he scoffed.

“Yes, a good husband. And he’s our lover. In case you didn’t notice this past week, we share him now.”

“Ah, fighting over me like children with a toy, are we?” The Chevalier snickered.

“Hush you,” Liselotte admonished. “Philippe, we love you, truly. We have watched you struggle all these months and it’s broken our hearts to see you in pain. We only want to help, to have you confide in us. We’ll not judge you, only love you all the more.”

“She’s right, Mignonette, a burden shared is a burden halved. Or thriced? Thirded? Irrelevant. The point remains. Talk with us, free the demons that hold you and let us in instead.”

“Have you ever read about the Egyptians? In their religion souls are judged by a God named Anubis. He has the body of a man and the head of a jackyl. When your soul seeks to enter the afterlife, it is weighed against your deeds during your lifetime. If your soul is light, you may pass to eternal paradise, but if it is not, if your soul is heavy with the blackness of your heart and your deeds on Earth, you are condemned to Hell and eternal torment. Each day since I first rode into battle I feel my soul growing heavier and heavier.”

“The Church says that you are absolved of lives taken in war,” Liselotte provided.

“It’s not the number of lives that weighs upon me. It was that, even now, I crave the clashing of swords and the spilling of blood. I’m very good at killing, and there were moments when, to my shame, I felt exhilaration and euphoria, mounting with each life I took. I am a monster. I am a warmonger.”

“It as an aspect of you,” the Chevalier spoke, “It is not the entirety of your being. If you were truly evil, you’d not feel shame. You’re not worry for the sanctity of your soul. When the battles were done and you returned to your tent and you were alone, what thought purveyed your mind?”

Philippe lost himself in the hearth’s flames as he pondered the Chevalier’s question. “Empty. I felt impossibly empty. I longed for you, at the same time as I was glad you were hundreds of miles away. I became a different person, and you met him the first time I returned.”

The Chevalier remembered all too well, the violent, angry man that came home from war. “The longer you were home, the further away that man became.”

“Yes, but then I would leave again, and leave the man you loved behind. The third time I returned, I knew I had to distance myself from you. I did not want that man to touch you. I believed that for all your bravado, my Chevalier, that you were too weak to tangle with that man. Forgive me, I know that is not true. You came into your own in my absence, and I have seen the incredibly strong man you are, that you have always been. But, I did not know it then. I was convinced that I would destroy your spirit, and I could not allow that to happen. I thought I was saving you. Believe me, I hurt just as badly as you that night.”

The Chevalier was quiet. He remembered that night, and how deep Philippe’s rejection had cut him. His grasp around Philippe loosened and he began to pull away, but Philippe caught him, and their eyes met. Tear brimmed in Philippe’s eyes and he silently begged the Chevalier not to leave him. “Please,” Philippe whispered hoarsely. “Please forgive me. I have abused your love and your body. I have taken my fears and my anger and put them upon you and you did not deserve to be treated so callously.”

The Chevalier relented and nodded and wiped at the tears that had come to his own eyes. Philippe wrapped his own arms around the Chevalier’s waist and lay his ear his heart. “When I dream, I am on the battlefields again. I hear the gunfire, I see rivers of blood and bodies torn apart. I am in Hell and it is never ending. And then, most often, I will see you, or you, Liselotte, or our son, standing there vulnerable and terrified and I cannot get to you quick enough. Then there is blood seeping through your clothing. You’ve been shot. Then I hold one of you in my arms as you die and you ask me what I could not save you. In those moments my fear and my grief overwhelm me entirely and I sit in the mud and wait for my own death, but it does not come. Everyone around me is dying but death does not come for me.

Death takes my loves, my family, but I remain, and then I see my second self. My demon. I see the man clad in black, wearing my face like he does his armour and he picks up a sword and we fight, man against demon… I do not know who wins, but I know inside me, they fight still. I am afraid. I am afraid that one day, the demon will finally win.”

There was a chill in the room despite the fire. Philippe’s story had shaken both the Chevalier and Liselotte to their core. The Chevalier was at a loss for words but he held on to Philippe with all his might. In the end, wisdom came from the lips of their wife.

“The next time your demon comes to duel, Philippe,” she spoke with a vehement certainty. “Tell your demon that it shall never have you. Tell it that you do not fight alone. We will fight with you. We will fight for you.” She moved closer and molded herself against his back and joined him in the Chevalier’s embrace.

“There… there is something else,” Philippe spoke barely above a whisper. The Chevalier kissed his forehead. “I have enjoyed many men over the course of my life, but loved only one.” He looked up at the Chevalier, and saw only love reflected back at him. He closed his eyes and hid his face at the Chevalier’s chest. “But Thomas, the spy. My brother had me feign interest, made me… surrender myself to his touch. There was no aspect of it that I enjoyed or welcomed, but I endured it for the sake of the King and for France. I have never been ashamed of who I am or who I choose to welcome into my bed, but I am ashamed of that. I have felt… unclean since then. No matter how many times I bathe myself, or however many times we three make love, his filth will always linger on my skin. I betrayed the trust and broke the heart of the only man who matters to me, and I am ashamed and I am sullied.” The Chevalier’s embrace tightened around Philippe.

The three held each other and did not let go for the rest of the night.

 

When the fire had turned to embers and the storm had finally passed, the three fell into bed, exhausted and overwrought. They fell into a dreamless sleep and did not wake until well into the afternoon. Philippe was the first to rise and gently eased himself from the bed so as no to wake the other two. His soul still wrestled with his memories of the war, but he did not feel so shackled by them. He no longer felt as if all hope was lost. He stood naked at the windows, the sun high in the sky, wondering to himself how he had been given the grace of their love. He promised to strive to be worthy of them, and to protect them as best he could from the darkness that dwelled within him. He did not think it could ever be entirely defeated, but perhaps that was the lot of the soldier.

He recognized the touch of the hand that had settled in the small of his back instantly and melted into the Chevalier’s kiss when his love sought for it. They poured all their passion, love and desire into the kiss as hands kneaded flesh, pulled at lengths of hair and took fierce possession of each other. Eventually, Philippe pulled away, but with a smile to ensure the Chevalier knew he was not being rebuffed.

“I did not say thank you last night,” Philippe spoke. “You saved my life.”

“Mmm, I dare say I saved my own, my love,” the Chevalier teased. He was not ready to revisit the unpleasantness of the previous evening, but it seemed they were not yet free of it.

“No, you saved me. Had I killed you, I would’ve followed swiftly after you. You may have been able to forgive me, but I would not have been able to forgive myself. I would’ve sent myself to Hell as quickly as the first blade I could find was grasped in my hand. You are the other half of my soul, Philippe, Chevalier of Lorraine. I cannot be without you. If God won’t let us into Heaven, we’ll storm the Gates until they relent, until we show them that our love is eternal and can conquer all. You have saved me, my love.”

The Chevalier swallowed thickly, his heart never having felt so full to bursting as it did in this moment. Philippe kissed him again.

“I would call you husband, if I could,” Philippe whispered and the Chevalier preened. “The Church may deny us, my brother may deny us, the whole entire world may deny us, but I will never deny you ever again.”

“And if you brother asks you to go to war again?” The Chevalier knew that his eyes betrayed him. Though he hoped Philippe could lay that particular demon to rest, he did not believe that his brother would allow it.

“I don’t know,” Philippe answered honestly.

The Chevalier sighed heavily and nodded. “A bridge we’ll cross when we arrive at it, I suppose.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You always do, darling. Problem is, like you, said, you’re very good at it. You’re good at everything.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Well, it’s got me in your breeches.” The Chevalier punctuated his teasing words by filling his palm with one cheek of Philippe’s bottom.

“And my heart.”

“The most important place.”

“It is, actually. I knew it when we were but 15, and I know it now. We may have deviated a little along the way, but we got here in the end.”

“Yes, we did, my love.”

“And picked up a wife along they way.” Liselotte lay sleeping still, snoring softly. The Chevalier smiled upon her. She was his closest friend, confident, and now lover. The three of them were a family, no matter how unorthodox it was. “You’re still my favourite though.”

“So I should be, but we are very lucky to have her. No one understands us better than she does.” The Chevalier knew this to be true. She had enriched their lives immeasurably, but he knew that her greatest joy was missing. “My love, send for your son. Bring him here for as long as possible. That wretch your husband’s married himself to had no right to take the baby from her.”

Philippe smiled deeply, feeling a warmth spread through him, “My dear Chevalier, how fortunate a man am I to know the true you and the benevolent heart that beats in your chest.”

“And don’t you dare let anyone else know I’ve even got one. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Once the rumours start at Versailles that you’re bedding not one but two members of the Royal Family, it will be written in stone. I’m afraid my brother’s historians will not be kind to you.”

“Ah well, what care I for how I’m remembered by people I don’t know who I’ll never meet, so long as I am loved here and now. People will know at least that I stood by you for the entirety of my life, no matter how long or short it may be.”

“I should like it to be very long. I wish to hold your hand when we are old men with gray hair and look into the blue of your eyes and see that you still love me as I will love you.”

“I’ll do my best, my love. I will never willingly be parted from you.”

“Nor I from you.”

They were caught up in another fiery kiss, the fervor of which caught fire. They tangled themselves together, bodies undulating against each other where they stood, breathy moans and heated gasps between them. Philippe soon began to kiss his way down the Chevalier’s body as he knelt before him, looking up at the Chevalier with a hunger that made the other man’s knees weak. Philippe’s hands slid up the Chevalier’s thighs, and his breath was hot against his skin. Aroused and in want of his beautiful Philippe, the Chevalier caressed his face with his hand and returned the lover’s gaze with equal measure. However just as Philippe’s tongue began its work, an audible gasp emanated from by way of the bed. It appeared that the Princess was no sleeping. Both heads turned towards her, slightly embarrassed despite all they’d got up to since arriving at Saint-Cloud.

“Do not stop on my account,” Liselotte spoke, indicating with a tilt of her head to prompt them to continue.

The Chevalier grinned. “Go on, Mignonette, show our wife just how good you are,” the Chevalier encouraged as he wove his fingers through his darling’s dark tresses. The wicked gleam in Philippe’s eyes told the Chevalier exactly how the rest of their day was going to be spent.

 

At summer’s end they returned to Versailles. The Chevalier did so with great apprehension. At Saint-Cloud they were sheltered and unbothered by the weight of the world that being part of the King’s Court put upon them. However, when Philippe set himself between them and offered them each an arm as they strode from the carriage across the Cour de Marbre and into the palace, there was a spring in his step and a light in his eyes again. He kissed them both and smiled warmly at them. He was whole and there was joy in his heart. He loved and was loved. The Chevalier knew this levity would not last as long as he wished, but likewise, he knew that his man, his husband, was saved.

 

The End


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